Stay In The Moment
by Shellie Williams
Summary: Someone is kidnapping and torturing young men to death. Will Gibbs and his team find the murderer in time when one of their own is taken?
1. Chapter 1

**Stay in the Moment**

Shellie Williams

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or places of NCIS.

**Rating: K+**

**Summary:** Someone is kidnapping and torturing young men to death. Will Gibbs and his team find the murderer in time when one of their own is taken?

**ONE**

The bright lights of autopsy revealed in brutal detail many and various markings on the young man's torso. Ducky stood uncharacteristically silent, hands arrested in their examination, his eyes frozen, staring unseen at the body on his table. Even the signal that chimed as the door opened, admitting Gibbs, did not faze him. Gibbs slowed and came to a stop beside his old friend. Eyebrows rose in question, then lowered in a frown of worry as Gibbs followed Ducky's line of sight to the body. He waited, expecting that any minute the doctor would pull in a breath and expound, tying in a personal experience with his findings. Instead, he remained silent and frozen, staring. Gibbs lifted his eyes to Jimmy Palmer, across the room. Ducky's assistant caught Gibbs' gaze, then lowered his own, an expression eerily similar to mourning drawing his features down.

Beginning to worry, Gibbs lifted his hand and clasped Ducky's shoulder. The older man shuddered, as if he'd been taken by surprise. He glanced behind him. "Oh, Jethro, when did you get here?" Turning back to his table, he moved closer to it. "I'm glad you are; I wanted to show you what I found." He began circling the body slowly, his eyes scanning the wounds. Gibbs squinted, wondering if the lights were playing tricks on him, or if that was moisture he saw gathering in Ducky's eyes.

"What do you got for me, Duck?"

"Markings that remind me of my RAMC days. No." He straightened, almost as if standing at attention, and focused his eyes on Gibbs. His voice softened almost to a whisper. "No, this is like nothing I've ever seen, Jethro. This brutality goes beyond my years of experience, or even what I've read or been told, for that matter." He rounded the table, walking closer to Gibbs. "It's as if the torturer were practicing - experimenting, if you will - looking for that method of delivering maximum pain while keeping his subject alive as long as he could. Look -" Turning, he gestured to a particular mark on the man's body. "These puncture wounds go no farther than half to one inch deep - no doubt eliciting pain for Lance Corporal Davenport, but not causing enough damage for the poor boy to bleed to death, or to puncture anything vital. And some of these puncture wounds - here, and here -" he pointed as he explained, "show signs of healing."

"How long do you think the murderer had him?"

Ducky pulled his eyes away from the victim and looked at Gibbs, eyes wide. "Two or three months, at least."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "That fits what we've found so far." He lifted his chin to indicate the body. "Lance Corporal Davenport was reported AWOL nearly three months ago. Back in June his fiancé contacted his C.O. and told him that Davenport never showed up at her apartment when she knew he was home on leave. She didn't think anything of it at first, but after two days she decided that maybe it was more than just throwing back a few cold ones with his buddies and contacted his C.O. The C.O. couldn't do anything about it until he didn't show up for duty, three days later. They found a suicide note in his locker, and a duffle bag at the bridge where he said he was going to jump. Now, two and a half months later, his body shows up in Virginia, nowhere near the water."

Ducky turned back to the body, his shoulders slumped, face heavy with sorry. "All that time he was being tortured."

Gibbs ducked his head in a quick nod. "Anything else, Ducky?"

"Oh, I haven't even begun." Again, he pointed out various wounds as he listed methods of torture. "He has electrical burns, burns from a cattle prod, burns from a tazer - I've already mentioned the puncture wounds, which cover his torso front and back from chin to navel, evidence of blunt force trauma, broken fingers, broken ribs, multiple bruises and contusions -"

"Any sign of rape or sexual torture?"

Ducky shook his head. "No, nothing like that. And he was in pristine condition," he waved his hand over the body, "other than the obvious marks and injuries, of course. The murderer bathed his body, cleaning him thoroughly. He placed him in a posed position on the bed, as if he were sleeping peacefully. I believe the murderer feels extreme guilt for his actions, but not until after he's committed the final act of murder. It's as if he's punishing his victim, no doubt tormenting them verbally even as he inflicts atrocities on their body. But he didn't allow them to respond. Notice here -" Ducky shifted sideways to the head of the table. Gently, he touched the corners of the Lance Corporal's mouth. "The torn and raw skin indicates he gagged the poor fellow, probably with a rag stuffed into his mouth and another tied around to the back of his head. Mr. Palmer found fibers lodged in the victim's throat, as well as in his hair along the path where the gag would have circled his head."

"Metro has two cases very similar to this. I'll ask for the autopsy reports and let you look them over. See if the cases have enough in common to tie them with ours."

Ducky turned and watched Gibbs walk away. "Three bodies? You realize what that means, Jethro."

The doors closed, but Ducky still heard his reply: "Serial Killer."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

McGee heard the elevator arrive and was ready with his report the minute Gibbs walked into the office.

"Boss, I have a list of the men who served with Lance Corporal Davenport. I'm running a background check on them now."

Gibbs acknowledged McGee's announcement as he sat at his desk. "Good. Get in touch with Metro. Lieutenant Chaney contacted me when he saw this story in the news and tells me they have a couple of similar cases. I want you to go over their evidence with Abby and see if you can find any connection with our case."

McGee nodded, his lips pressed together. He picked up his phone.

"Tony, Ziva, I want you to go to Davenport's fiancé and question her."

Tony continued the instructions as he gathered his 'pack and rounded his desk to grab the address Gibbs held out to him. "Ask her about his friends, people who might hold a grudge, old girl friends - got it, Boss." Ziva joined him and they walked to the elevator and were gone.

McGee hung up his phone. "Lieutenant Chaney is sending Miller with the information." He stood and hesitated at his desk. "I'll go help Abby if you can tell him -"

Gibbs waved him away. "Go, go. I'll send him to the lab with the evidence when he gets here."

"Thanks, Boss." Satisfied, McGee hurried to the stairs, heading for Abby's lab. He walked in and winced, noticing the louder than normal music blaring over the speakers. When he called twice and didn't get an answer, he moved to the computer and lowered the volume. As expected, the response was immediate.

"Hey!" Abby rushed through the door of her inner office, hands fisted at her sides. She stopped when she saw McGee and her expression softened, but irritation still furrowed her brow. "Why'd you turn it down, McGee?"

"I called for you, but you didn't hear me."

Abby shook her head. She bypassed McGee and stood in front of one of her computers. Tapping the keys, she watched the screen for results. "Sorry - I had to do something to get some positive vibes going again."

McGee stood behind her. "What's wrong?"

"It's this case. Ever since I've processed the pictures Tony took at the scene I've had this weird, haunted feeling, and I can't shake it."

McGee signed. "I know it's bad, Abby." Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around. He grinned in an attempt to cheer her up and get her mind on other things. "Guess who's coming?"

She shrugged. Her expression did not change.

"Miller - you remember, about four years ago when we worked with Lieutenant Chaney's team on Petty Officer Deon Lambert's case? - The guy who wrote computer code to steal drugs from the government and faked his own death, remember?"

Abby gasped and her eyes opened wide. "OH! Your _doppelganger_! Kate told me how the team was like a weird parallel universe version of you guys -"

"Parallel universe? Kate actually said, 'parallel universe'?"

"Well, no. Actually, I was the one who came up with the parallel universe part, but she agreed with me." Abby clasped her hands together and bounced on her toes. "I wanted to meet everyone so _bad_ and make you all stand side by side so I could make a comparison. But the case never led anyone down here, so I had to make Kate describe everything to me. She said Tony and Premo Montaleonie were just alike, and she and Rachel were similar, especially in the way they were tormented by their partners, but that you and Miller were like conjoined twins who'd recently been separated by surgery." Ignoring McGee's incredulous expression, Abby twirled around and shifted back to her computer. "Maybe this day isn't going to be so bad after all."

"Conjoined twins, huh?"

Abby's grin widened.

Two hours later, McGee turned from what he was doing to watch a man, carrying a large plastic container, walk into Abby's lab.

"Can I help you?" Recognition kicked in and he stood. "Oh! Miller - hi."

The man smiled and a tiny resemblance of the young, chubby, boyish face he'd had four years ago appeared. "Where do you want this?"

Flustered, McGee gestured toward a work table. "Over there."

The chime from an opening door announced Abby's entrance. She slowed to a stop when she caught sight of the stranger. McGee swallowed and walked to stand beside the man. "Abby, this is Miller from Metro. Miller, this is Abby Scuito, our forensic scientist."

Abby's mouth dropped open and her eyes cut across at McGee, then shifted back to Miller. "He's your doppelganger?"

Miller smiled. "I work mainly with vice, now." He held a comfortable stance with the air of an elite businessman, one hand on his hip, holding back the expensively tailored, olive-colored jacket that overlaid a beautiful creamy silk shirt. The material fit his frame perfectly, hinting subtlety of sculptured abs beneath. His hair was longer and fuller, and swept back in gold-touched highlights from his tastefully tanned face. The dark leather belt around his waist accentuated his narrow hips.

McGee noticed with irritation how Abby's gaze traveled up and down, unabashedly studying Miller as he stood there. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, breaking Abby's concentration.

"Well, thanks, Miller. I think we can take it from here." He realized that in the back of his mind, he'd been expecting the memory of Miller captured in his head to show up, maybe so he could see how far he'd come since that awkward stage four years ago. But instead, he'd been shown a vision of what he _could_ have been, and that was not something he wanted to see.

"Sure. Let me know if you need anything else. Nice to meet you, Abby."

Abby smiled demurely. McGee rolled his eyes, surprised she didn't twist her foot on the floor like some shy schoolgirl playing hard to get. "Pleasure, Miller. Please come back any time." She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a little wave as he turned and left.

McGee walked to the work table and began taking things out of the evidence box.

"Wow! He was hot, McGee."

Keeping busy, McGee barely acknowledged her statement with a mumbled, "I didn't notice." Suddenly, he found Abby's arms wrapped around him from behind, her chin perched on his shoulder. He ignored her. "Can we please concentrate on the case now?"

He heard a smile in her response. "You're not jealous, are you?" Releasing him, Abby walked to the opposite side of the table. "You still look a whole lot alike, you know."

Still removing objects from the box, McGee kept his head down, but cut his eyes up at Abby. "You think so?"

Abby nodded with enthusiasm. "Most definitely. In fact, I think maybe you both look more alike now than you did four years ago."

Unable to keep up his pretence of being busy after that statement, McGee lifted his head. "Oh come on, Abby - you didn't even _see_ us together four years ago. How can you make a comparison like that?"

She shrugged and started digging through the box, too, laying things out on the table in an orderly fashion. "Because I remember how you looked four years ago."

That made absolutely no sense, but McGee knew better than to argue. He returned to the evidence and together, they got to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

_He hung suspended, powerless. A cloth stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head cut through the tender skin at the corners of his mouth. So many points of agony, pain and stress all over his body telegraphed messages to his brain. He clenched his teeth, biting down on the rag in his mouth, and tried to yell. Incoherent noises rumbled out of him, muffled by his gag._

_He wiggled his fingers - or tried to. His hands, tied above his head, had grown numb through time. Somewhere in the dark, a door opened. Dreaded anticipation rushed through him, sending his heart into a frenzy of staccato beats. The rise and fall of his chest pulled at the flesh across his belly, and he felt the rough edge of his jeans as his skin pushed, then pulled away from his waistband. The coopery tinge of blood at the back of his tongue hinted of internal injuries; he tried to ignore the fragile and fragmented feel of his ribs as they opened and closed with his breathing._

_A faceless man stepped into view. Fear blossomed in his chest and his breathing quickened, huffing through his nose. The man held a knife sporting a short, pointed, one-inch blade in one hand, and a long cattle prod in the other. A mouth opened in the face, showing white, even teeth. The lips grinned. He thrust forward with the knife. The blade sunk to the hilt into his side and he threw back his head and screamed. Warm blood trickled down his shock-cooled skin._

_The man withdrew the knife and stepped back. With a flick of his thumb the cattle prod began to hum and the hair on his arms stood at attention, so close to the crackle of electricity. _

_He couldn't escape; couldn't even wrap his arms around himself in protection. His spine bowed as his body tried to curl in, but couldn't. The cattle prod came closer. The hum of harnessed electricity grew and vibrated the air. His breathing all but stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head, but still felt the instant that burning tip touched the middle of his chest. His body arched uncontrollably, stiffening in a tight open curve, as agony shot through his heart, then spread through his limbs like lava, burning him as it filled him._

Tony woke with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. The familiarity of his bedroom immediately threw him out of the nightmare. Drawing up his knees, he braced his elbows and dropped his face in his hands. My god, that had seemed so real. Even though he felt no pain he opened his eyes and glanced down at his chest, half expecting to see burn marks from a cattle prod. Shaking his head, he threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. A quick glance at the clock told him he'd be getting up in twenty minutes, anyway. It wasn't worth it to lie back down and fall asleep, only to have the alarm wake him up two minutes later.

He sat still for a while, letting real life catch up with him, dispelling the last vestiges of the nightmare. He blamed it on the scene they'd processed yesterday. The photos he'd taken of the body, laid out in such a peaceful posture, as if the man were sleeping, gave him the creeps. The cuts, bruises and burn marks brushed across the clean canvas of white skin weren't his idea of art. It spoke of pain - unrelenting, mind-blowing, heart-stopping pain. Only someone with a very sick mind would inflict that kind of torture on another human being.

Whether it was his nightmare, or just the need to exact revenge, Tony's determination to solve the case intensified and focused. He stood and got ready for work. Twelve minutes later, he left his apartment.

Tony wasn't the only one getting to work early. He and Ziva arrived at the same time and walked into the building together. But McGee had beaten them both, and was sitting, typing at his computer when the elevator released them to their floor. Gibbs noted with satisfaction his team's early arrivals. It seemed they wanted to solve this case as badly as he did.

"Boss, I may have something." McGee stood and moved to the center of the office, just as Tony and Ziva were stowing their things at their desks. They quickly joined he and Gibbs, watching the plasma as McGee put a picture on the screen. "This is Lance Corporal Reed; he served with Davenport and was his bunkmate, along with Lance Corporal Harold Tilton," McGee put another picture on the plasma, "during their last tour. Reed is the one who found the suicide note. Both he and Tilton are on leave right now. Reed is in Virginia, Tilton is here in Washington. "

"Reed - why do I remember that name?" Tony moved back to his desk and began looking through his notes. "Ah, here it is. Of the two cases metro sent us, Reed is connected to the second one: Marty Kellerman. Apparently the two of them served together four years ago, before Kellerman's discharge."

"I'll go see if Abby's come across any of his DNA or fingerprints in the other cases and look for any connection between Reed and the first Metro case," Ziva offered as she headed for the stairs.

"Tony, I want you to get Reed and bring him in for questioning."

"Got it, Boss." Tony walked back to his desk, grabbed his gun and 'pack and hurried for the elevator.

"McGee, you go question Tilton. See how well he knew Reed and if he's still in contact with him."

"Yes, Boss." Grabbing his 'pack and a jacket, then strapping his gun on, McGee walked quickly to the elevator and left.

It was a quick, twenty minute drive to the suburb where Tilton rented an apartment. Traffic was busy, but not congested, and McGee made good time. He found a parking space, checked his notes again for the correct address, then walked quickly to Tilton's apartment. He knocked.

The door opened and Tilton smiled, showing white, even teeth when he saw McGee. "Can I help you?"

McGee dipped his head in a quick nod and smiled politely. "I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee from NCIS. That's -"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services - yeah, I know. What does NCIS want with me?"

"I'd like to ask you a few questions about Lance Corporal Reed, if you don't mind."

The smile disappeared. "This is about Simon, isn't it?"

McGee nodded again. "Lance Corporal Davenport, yes."

"I heard they'd found his body." Shaking his head and opening the door, Tilton apologized, "I'm sorry - of course I'll answer any questions you have. Please come in."

McGee walked in and Tilton shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

Ziva stood beside Abby, studying the computer screen. "Remind me again what we are looking at, Abby?"

"DNA strands." She pointed. "The one on the right is Reed, but the one on the left doesn't match."

"And that puzzles you?"

"Yes, it puzzles me greatly." Turning from her computer, Abby moved to a large table that held several bags of evidence. Arms crossed, Ziva joined her. "This is all the physical evidence Miller gave me - Miller is McGee's doppelganger from Metro, did you know?" She answered before Ziva could respond, "No, you couldn't know that, not unless someone told you, because that was when Kate was with us." She circled the table to stand opposite of Ziva. "There was a case about four years ago that included a team from Metro with everyone's double."

Ziva tucked in her chin and chuckled. "You mean Tony has a twin?"

"I know, it boggles the mind, doesn't it?"

"I believe a better expression would be: it blows the mind - the last thing we need is two Tonys!"

Gibbs appeared. "No, what we need is two Abbys, so maybe we'd get enough work out of one of them to solve a case."

"Gibbs! I was just telling Ziva about the time you guys had doppelgangers - remember that time working with Metro and Lieutenant Chaney?"

Gibbs came to a stop at the table and pointed down at the evidence. "What do you got for me, Abby?"

"Right." Turning on her heel, Abby scooted back to her computer. "I have several sets of DNA found at both crime scenes." With a few taps, she put multiple displays on the wide screen. "I can eliminate all but two of them: one belongs to the victim and the other one belongs to a Lance Corporal Jerry Ostwald."

"Ziva -"

"I'll run a background check." She turned and left.

"Good work, Abby." Gibbs started to leave but stopped when Abby grabbed his arm. Eyebrows raised, he turned back to her.

"Gibbs, I have a really bad feeling about this case."

He gave a quick nod. "It's one of the worst that we've had, I know. But we'll catch this bastard."

"I know." One corner of her mouth lifted in a frown. "I just have the feeling that you'll catch him too late."

Gibbs reached and pulled her to him. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "You leave the worrying to me, Abbs." Giving her a quick smile, he left.

Abby watched him go, then turned back to her screens. She had more than a bad feeling; she had a dark foreboding, and Gibbs' kiss and smile hadn't brought the reassurance she'd been expecting. Shoulders lifting in a deep sigh, she returned to the pile of evidence.

By the time Gibbs walked back into the office, Ziva and Tony were waiting for him.

"Reed's in holding Boss. He isn't saying much other than claiming he had nothing to do with Davenport's murder."

Ziva added, "I found Lance Corporal Jerry Ostwald. According to his records, he's been dead for seven years."

"Then how could his DNA be at the crime scene?" Intrigued, Tony moved to stand beside Ziva.

Gibbs joined them. "Put his picture up."

Ziva complied, pointing the remote at the plasma. She froze. Beside her, Gibbs' eyes widened with recognition. "That's not Ostwald - that's Lance Corporal Harold Tilton."

"McGee -"

"- is in trouble." All in one motion Gibbs grabbed his phone to call McGee, barked orders to gear up and get to the car, snatched his gun with his other hand, and sprinted for the elevator. McGee's phone went to voicemail and Gibbs' heart squeezed in his chest. "McGee! Do _not_ question Tilton - I repeat, do _not _question Tilton. Wait for us to join you."

The elevator doors shut. Anxious for an update, Tony shifted from foot to foot. "Was that his voicemail?"

Gibbs didn't answer. The instant the doors opened, he was gone, rushing toward the car.

Tony and Ziva followed at a run. "Boss?"

"Yes, Tony, that was his voicemail."

Nothing else was said as they drove away, squealing tires leaving a burnt rubber trail smoking on the concrete.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

McGee woke when his cheek bumped hard against a fuzzy surface. He opened his eyes to muted light and vibrating walls in an enclosed space. When he tried to move, he discovered his hands had been tied behind his back. Panic accelerated his breathing and quickened his heartbeat to a frantic fluttering in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of his surroundings, waiting for reality to balance and come back into focus.

"_You served with Davenport - you and Reed; is that correct?"_

_Tilton nodded, indicating for McGee to sit, and circled the coffee table to sit opposite him in another chair. "Yes, we were bunkmates for our first year together." He smiled. "Reed called us the Three Musketeers."_

"_So, you were close?"_

"_You're in law enforcement, Agent McGee - depending on your partners day after day to watch your back, keep you covered. You grow close, develop bonds. If you don't establish that line of trust, you end up second guessing each other in the field and mistakes can cost a life - am I right?"_

_McGee nodded, wondering when the conversation had changed into him being the interviewee, and Tilton becoming the interviewer. Clearing his throat, he tried to steer things back around. "Did Reed and Davenport get along all right? Was there any type of competition between them or anything?"_

_Tilton stared at him for a second, long enough for McGee to feel uncomfortable. Then he smiled again, shook his head, and stood. "You're not listening, Agent McGee. I told you - we were the Three Musketeers. There was no competition between us."_

_McGee grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "Not even a little sibling-like rivalry? You know how guys are - always claiming to be the best at something."_

_From another room a muted alarm sounded. Tilton glanced back over his shoulder then smiled at McGee. "Would you excuse me for just a minute, please? I've got something cooking on the stove."_

"_Of course." _

_Tilton left, walking back to what McGee assumed was the kitchen. He stood and moved around the perimeter of the room, noting framed pictures and memorabilia collected from the different countries Tilton must have visited during his years of service. Through a short hall, he saw an open door. Realizing he had a sudden urge, he turned and called, "Mind if I borrow your restroom?" He thought he heard an answer, but then again, the sounds coming from the kitchen may have drowned out his request. Figuring Tilton wouldn't mind, McGee stuck his small notepad in his pocket and hurried to the bathroom._

_He finished, then turned on the water at the sink. As he reached for the soap, a pattern of tiny spatterings caught his attention. Leaning closer, he watched as a drop of water mixed with one of the spots and turned brownish red. Curious, he followed the splatter pattern down the wall to the floor. It ended at the door of the built-in cabinet beneath the basin. He hesitated for a moment, hand hovering at the handle. With a quick pull, the door opened, revealing a bloody, short-bladed knife and some other unrecognizable instruments piled together on a towel._

_A sound behind him caught his attention. He stood quickly and found Tilton watching him from the doorway. _

"_I wish you hadn't seen that."_

_A bat swung for his head. The violent connection with his skull released bright blinding light and heart-stopping agony. The darkness that followed was almost a relief._

As memory returned, so did coherency. McGee realized he was in a car trunk. Tilton's car trunk. Unbidden, flashes of the body they'd found at the crime scene, wounds standing out in vivid detail, sprang to mind. McGee closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the trunk floor. _Don't anticipate - take each minute as it comes._ Ziva's voice spoke in his head. _If you think about it your fear will make it worse than it is. I know it is not easy to stay calm in a dangerous situation, but force yourself to stay in the moment and deal with each minute, rather than thinking ahead. It will help you cope with the pain._ Swallowing hard, his mouth dry, McGee repeated aloud to himself, "Don't anticipate." When the images still wouldn't stop, he forced himself to picture his team instead, following and coming for him. While it didn't slow down his racing heart or calm his breathing, it did help ease the fear that threatened to overtake his mind.

"Hurry guys. I need you to find me."


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

Tony kicked in the door. He and Ziva rushed into the room in perfect formation, Gibbs following close behind. Gibbs knew the apartment would be empty; in fact, he prayed for it. Between finding a body, and having McGee missing, he would choose the latter with the confident assurance that he'd find his man before it was too late. He hoped. Still, he held his breath until both Tony and Ziva called out that all was clear and the apartment was unoccupied.

"I've got blood in the bathroom."

Gibbs and Ziva joined Tony. He pointed at the obvious stains on the floor.

Gibbs turned away quickly. "Head to the car and get what we need. Ziva, photograph and sketch - Tony, bag and tag."

"Boss -"

Gibbs whipped back around to face Tony. "What?"

"Tilton has McGee - what do you think he'll do to him?"

For just a moment, Gibbs ignored the frantic flutter in his chest and clamped down on the urgent need to push things into motion so he could speed up time and find his missing agent. He stepped closer to Tony. "You know what he'll do to him. The quicker we find him, the less McGee has to suffer. You want to stand here discussing your feelings, or do you want to find McGee?"

Tony's jaw worked as his muscles clenched.

Gibbs gave a quick nod. "So get busy - let's find this bastard." He turned and hurried back out of the apartment to the car, opening his phone as he ran. Tony and Ziva scurried past him and gathered their equipment. Gibbs stayed by the car, waiting for his call to go through. His first priority would have been to call the Director, but Vance was gone, busy playing politics with the bigwigs of Washington. It was budget cutting time, and he was fighting his own battle for the agency. Instead, Gibbs was making the call he dreaded most, but it had to be done.

"_Hello? Gibbs? What's wrong?"_

Gibbs blinked, startled. He should have expected this. He cut right to the point. "Abby, McGee's been taken. We think Tilton has him. Tony and Ziva are processing the scene right now and will have all the evidence in your hands within the hour. I need you to go back through everything we have from the Davenport case, and the two cases Metro sent us. We need to find out where Tilton is taking his victims. Get Ducky and Palmer to help you."

The other end of the line was silent. Gibbs heard shuddering breaths.

"Abby - listen to me. McGee needs you - I need you. I know you're scared and worried, but McGee's life depends on how good we can do our job right now." A wet sniff came over the line. Gibbs shut his eyes. "Abby -"

"_How fast can you get the evidence to me?"_

The voice wavered, tears just beneath the surface, but fierce determination filled her words. Gibbs pushed away from the car. "As fast as we can."

"_Faster than that. We can't let him down, Gibbs. We have to save him."_

"We will, Abby."

"_Promise?"_

Gibbs pulled in a deep breath. "I promise I'll do my best. Get busy, Abs - we'll be there as soon as we can." He shut his phone, not giving her a chance to comment.

Grabbing the last case from the car, he hurried back to the apartment.

In the bathroom, Tony had found the stash of bloody weapons beneath the sink and was bagging them for evidence. He turned when he heard Gibbs stop at the door. "We know we have at least a two month window to find McGee."

Gibbs stared at the short-bladed knife in Tony's gloved hand. "You think McGee's glad he has two months with Tilton?"

"We may not have two months. We may not even have two days before he kills McGee." Ziva spoke from the hallway.

Looking around Gibbs, Tony finished bagging the knife and asked, "Why would he change his M.O. now?"

"Because there has never been an active search for Tilton's victims at the time he was torturing them - they were all assumed already dead. Knowing NCIS is hunting him, he will probably move up his time table. He might decide to torture McGee for two or three days before killing him and dumping his body - not two or three months."

Tony opened a bag with more force than was necessary. "We can always count on you to throw a little optimism on the subject, Ziva."

"No, she's right. We need to get this apartment processed and get the evidence to Abby - _now_. Let's hustle, people." Putting actions to words, Gibbs shifted past Ziva and moved into the kitchen. He began looking through cabinets and drawers, bagging and tagging anything that caught his eye. It felt as if he were being twisted tighter and tighter.

The car stopped. McGee stiffened, listening as he heard a car door open and close, then footsteps on gravel. A metal scrape signaled a key in the lock, then the trunk lid opened. He stared up at Tilton, leaning over him.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Good, you're awake."

Tilton reached in and grabbed fistfuls of his jacket, then hauled him easily out of the car. McGee stumbled, finding his legs tingly and numb from being in a cramped position for too long. His head throbbed with his heartbeat. _What do you want? What are you going to do to me?_ He grit his teeth, holding in the frantic words that wanted to escape. He found himself pushed forward with Tilton's hands still fisted at his shoulders, forcing him to walk.

They were still in the city, to McGee's surprise. He expected an old barn, or an abandoned house way out in the country, far removed from curious eyes and neighbors. Instead, they made their way through the doorway of what looked like a condemned building, probably a restaurant, on the south side of town. It sat in a long string of dilapidated structures, probably abandoned as businesses moved and spread east, away from this older district.

"Where are we?" Despite his resolve to stay silent, McGee couldn't help but ask.

"Just an old building I came across, Agent McGee. It wasn't my grandfather's business - my parents didn't have their first date here - my dad didn't propose to my mom here - there's absolutely nothing to tie me to this building."

They shuffled across the room, then moved into a smaller area that eventually opened into what had been a large kitchen at one time. Beyond that stood an open doorway, dark and foreboding. When he found himself at the threshold of an old wooden stairwell, McGee resisted, locking his feet and refusing to move. Behind him, he heard Tilton chuckle.

"What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?"

"I - I can't see - I might fall."

"You forget - I'm not afraid of hurting you, Agent McGee."

McGee cried out when Tilton shoved him, hard. Hands behind his back and unable to see, he couldn't keep his balance. His knees buckled and he tumbled down the steps, grunting as each sharp-edged stair cut into his body. He rolled to a stop at the bottom, trying to breathe through his pain.

A sudden harsh light snapped on overhead. He squinted with the glare, aware of Tilton slowly descending the stairs. When he finally opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't. Tables lined three of the walls, their surfaces filled with instruments and tools. A showerhead hung from the ceiling near the fourth wall and a drain was set in the cement beneath it. Chains strung like forgotten garland from the ceiling, ending in thick leather bracelets that turned slowly, throwing strange shadows on the wall.

"It was easy, reconnecting electricity to this place. No one ever comes around to check, make sure no vagrants have taken up residence. I guess everyone's forgotten about these old buildings." Trailing his hand along the tables, Tilton walked slowly around the room.

On his back, McGee used his heels to move around and keep Tilton in sight. "Why are you doing this, Tilton?" He closed his eyes, angry with himself for asking, and for the way his voice trembled. He'd meant to keep his fears to himself, meant to stay in the moment, and not anticipate what was coming. When he opened his eyes he found Tilton watching him.

"It's - complicated, Agent McGee. I'll have the confession and long stream of explanations later, right before you die. Isn't that the way it's supposed to go?"

McGee shuddered, unable to clamp down on his growing terror.

"Now, before we get started, I'm going to need to get you out of those clothes."

Crying out, McGee dug in his heels, sliding away from Tilton. The man followed him easily, grabbed him up, and punched him hard across the jaw. Darkness threatened but McGee resisted, afraid of what Tilton would do while he was unconscious. Another hard punch across the jaw and he was powerless against the encroaching darkness. He escaped to oblivion.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

Abby blinked, striving bravely to keep her tears in check so she could focus on the readouts scrolling across her computer screens. Her reflections on the various shiny surfaces in her lab revealed red-rimmed eyes, shadowed beneath with a smeared line of dark makeup. She didn't notice her appearance; all her attention centered on test results and evidence. She knew finding a break in the case, and somehow discovering where Tilton took his victims rested heavily on her shoulders. Now, when she needed them most, her babies were either silent, or repeating information she already knew.

She turned to the man beside her for comfort, but was startled to find Tony staring into space, his eyes distant, obviously not seeing anything in front of him. She was used to intense Tony; when the situation called for it, Tony could become extremely focused. But this wasn't focused; this was - as if he were in shock.

"Tony?"

He blinked, as if coming out of a hypnotic state. He didn't look at her. "Yeah?"

"What's wrong? I mean, beside the obvious. You look -" _…as if you've lost your best friend._ The words stuck in her throat and Abby felt tears well in her eyes again. Despair wrapped around her.

"I had a dream about Tilton, Abby."

That was unexpected enough to help her shift her focus away from her grief, even for just a moment. Dreams meant something. Unbidden, she remembered the dream she'd had before Kate had died. "Did he have Tim?"

Tony shook his head. "No. He had me." The muscles in his jaw rolled when he clenched his teeth. "I guess it was the crime scene we processed. I dreamed he was - he was torturing me."

"Oh, Tony."

The catch in her voice seemed to break whatever spell Tony had fallen into. He looked at Abby. "We'll find him." He closed his eyes and shook his head as if waking up. When he opened his eyes, his expression had hardened. "We don't have time for this. Have you processed the evidence from Tilton's apartment, yet?"

The hard edge she heard in Tony's question helped her pull herself together. Her worry and fear for Tim didn't fade, she just quietly pulled those thoughts to the side and let her analytical side take center stage. "I'm still working on that. There were several fibers and samples that don't belong in the apartment; I can't link them to the carpet or anything yet, so I'm thinking he may have carried them in with him from wherever he tortured - wherever he kept his victims."

"How about the blood on the weapons?"

Abby typed in a final command and shifted away from the computer, walking to one of the microscopes across the room. She peered into the viewer, then put her findings on the screen so Tony could see them. "The blood on the short blade matches Lance Corporal Davenport's; there's also skin on the hilt, and I'm running a DNA scan on that now. There were some very old blood stains on the towel that match both Kellerman and Mason - the two cases Metro sent us."

"Let me know when you have the results." He turned to leave but Abby called to him and he turned back to her.

"I've had a bad feeling about this case ever since it started. I knew something was going to happen. I felt it in my gut."

"There's nothing we could have done, Abby. My dream; your gut. It was just bad luck that sent Tim to Tilton's apartment. No one could have known what was going to happen." He closed the distance between them and gently touched Abby's cheek. "But he's counting on us now to find him, and we can't let him down."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This time, when Tony turned to leave, she let him go and got back to work. A nearly unbearable urge to run screaming into the street, ranting and yelling, demanding for someone to help her find Tim, rose dangerously close to the surface. She clamped down on it, twisting and pulling it into submission, funneling that frantic urge into something she could use. Her determination and stubborn will had saved her before, had kept her going when she wanted to collapse and surrender to grief. She turned to Science, resolved to bending it to her will and forcing it to give her results when it seemed none were available. She was fighting for Tim, and nothing - not even lack of evidence - was going to stand in her way.


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

Coming from autopsy, Gibbs hurried into the office. "Where's Tony?"

Ziva stood from her desk. "Abby's lab." A ding from the elevator announced its arrival and Tony joined them.

"Abby got anything yet?"

Tony shook his head as he circled his desk. "Nothing new. She's still processing evidence from Tilton's apartment."

"Send Palmer to help her." Gibbs turned to Ziva as Tony picked up his phone and called autopsy. "What can you tell me about the cases Metro sent us?"

"They are almost carbon copies of the one we have." As she spoke, Ziva left her desk and joined Gibbs. She pointed the remote at the plasma, displaying the pictures of two men. "Marty Kellerman and Zackary Mason - Kellerman was murdered four years ago; Mason two."

"So he kills about every other year."

Tony stood slowly. "I don't believe it."

Gibbs watched him, impatience furrowing his brow. "What do you see, DiNozzo?"

"Don't you see it? How could we have not seen this?" He flung out his arm to the screen.

Ziva squinted at the plasma. Gibbs all but growled. "DiNozzo!"

Tony flinched. "Sorry, boss." He stood beside Ziva. "They all look like McGee."

Ziva's eyes widened. "They do bear a striking resemblance."

Gibbs' gaze flickered between the two pictures. "Put Davenport and McGee up there."

Tony hurried back to his computer. It took him long enough that Gibbs began to glare in earnest, but the pictures were finally on the plasma. The similarities between features were obvious.

"Looks like Tilton was targeting a certain type."

"You think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs tore his eyes away from the screen and moved to his desk to retrieve his weapon. "Tony, get me everything you can on Tilton; start from the day he was born - I want to know every detail I can possibly know about this dirt bag. Ziva, you're with me. We're heading back to Tilton's apartment to do a little more digging."

* * *

He woke and knew immediately where he was, but didn't open his eyes. He took a mental inventory; clothes were gone, but his boxers remained. The soles of his feet pressed against a cold concrete floor; he felt bindings around his ankles. His arms were stretched over his head, his wrists were buckled into the leather cuffs he'd noticed earlier. His muscles and bones felt strained, as if he'd stretched his body as far as he could and become frozen at the utmost point of extension. Uncomfortably vulnerable, he listened, hoping to glean Tilton's location.

"Agent McGee."

The hot whisper against his ear started him. He shuddered and gasped, his eyes opened wide.

Tilton backed away and laughed. "I knew you were awake." He stood at one of the tables and carefully, methodically, slipped on some thick rubber gloves.

Tim's thoughts bounced crazily around in his head. He couldn't lasso anything down and form a coherent response. _God please, don't let this happen._ He trembled when Tilton reached past him to the wall. An irritating squeak announced the turning of a handle. Before Tim could wonder what it was, several drops of water hit his head. That was his only warning. A sudden and breath-takingly cold deluge of water gushed over him, drenching him. He sucked in violently, his muscles seizing with the cold. The flood slowed to a steady stream, running over his head, thick rivulets coiling over his shoulders, streaming down his torso and legs. The water bled away into the drain at his feet.

A spark and the acrid smell of smoke snapped his attention back to Tilton. Something very similar to a car battery sat on the table, cables snaking from the top to Tilton's gloved hands. Tilton touched the two metal pieces topping the cables together. A blue electric spark danced between them. Tim flinched, blinking rapidly to keep water out of his eyes. Mouth open in disbelief, he watched a smile play across Tilton's face.

"Just a little lesson in electricity, Rodney."

_Rodney?_ The name threw him out of the moment for an instant. A question on the tip of his tongue, McGee was flung violently back into his fear when Tilton took a step toward him, the tips of those cables moving dangerously close to his water-drenched body. His breathing quickened in short, staccato gusts, then drew in with an abrupt lungful and burst out of him when the cables touched his body. Two points: one at the center of his chest, the other on his left side, burned with fire. The surge crackled through him, then connected and erased everything but pain and agony. His spine creaked with strain as he arched stiffly, then vainly tried to curl in for protection. It lasted only for an instant, but it left him panting and groaning in fear.

The cables touched him again; low on his belly, and on his right side. Again, on his back and left side. Again, on his belly and chest. For several minutes he knew only back-arching, mind-blowing pain, interspaced between moments of no pain, only breathing. _Stop, stop, stop!_ Why didn't anyone listen to him? Why didn't God reach down and strike this man dead? Why wasn't Gibbs arriving to save the day? What gave Tilton the right to torture him, and why was he the victim? _Why, why, why?_

His head hung low between his shoulders, water and tears running down his face. A heavy clunk signaled Tilton putting the cables down, then a squeak and the water was off. Slowly, he lifted his head.

He found Tilton pulling off his gloves, watching him. Tilton smiled. "I bet if you could, you'd kill me right now, wouldn't you, Rodney."

McGee closed his eyes and shook his head.

"No?"

Feeling a deep weariness pulling him down, McGee opened his eyes. "I'm not Rodney."

Confusion flashed through Tilton's eyes. "Rodney? Where'd you hear that name, Agent McGee?" Fear reached into his chest and squeezed Tim's heart when Tilton's nostrils flared and he stepped closer. "What do you know about Rodney?"

"I - " He shook his head, at a loss. He knew Tilton was crazy to inflict such pain and suffering on another human being, but the actual depth of Tilton's insanity was just beginning to sink in. "I heard you say his name."

So quickly he didn't see it coming, Tilton lashed out and clamped both hands to Tim's throat. "Liar! I would never tell you that name!" His sudden rage grew and he squeezed Tim's throat.

As abruptly as it began, it was over. Tilton backed away, wiping his hands against his legs. Coughing, Tim drew in deep breaths, his eyes wide with fear. He saw Tilton's hands curl into fists at his sides, saw the way his lips rolled in against his teeth. He knew what was coming next, but could not protect himself from the brutal punch to his gut. He strained against his bindings, trying to draw his elbows down, but his movements only irritated the skin around his wrists when the leather cuffs bit into his flesh. Helpless, he took several punches to his ribs and abdomen.

Through a haze of gathering darkness, he watched Tilton turn away and leave up the stairs. His head pounded and his gut churned with nausea. Tim rolled his forehead into his arm, the only movement left to him that offered any solace.

_Stay in the moment._ His thoughts wanted to wander, leaping into the next torture session and providing him with visions of pain and agony. _No, don't go there. Stay in this minute and get through it._ He took a deep breath, then decide to curtail his breathing when his ribs reminded him of Tilton's punches. Burns from the contact of the electrical cables stung, and a fine trembling kept him shivering. Despair ambushed him and for a brief instant, hope evaporated from his spirit.

_Stay in the moment._

Squeezing his eyes shut he pulled in a shaky breath, and then another, and another. There, he could do this. All he had to do was survive until his team found him. Emotion sat waiting at the edge of his mind, ready to leap in and wring tears from his eyes and pour hopelessness into his heart. But he refused to give into it, turning instead to the deep assurance that Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Abby, Ducky and Palmer were doing everything they could to help him. It was up to him to do everything in his power to hold it together. He just hoped they hurried. He whispered the same prayer he'd said when he'd woken up in Tilton's car: "Hurry, guys. I need you to find me."


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

Gibbs cut through the yellow plastic tape stretched across Tilton's apartment door, then gestured for Ziva to pick the lock. She did, then opened the door and entered. Gibbs followed her in.

"Any idea what we are looking for?"

Gibbs pointed at the living room as he walked through to the bedroom. "Go through everything."

Ziva mumbled to herself, though Gibbs couldn't hear her, "I guess I will know when I find it."

The bedroom was small. Gibbs ripped the blanket and sheets off, then slashed his knife across the mattress, searching through the stuffing. When that yielded nothing, he flipped it over and repeated the process, then did the same with the box springs. Soon he was wading in cotton batting, and the air was thick with fibers. He pulled both mattress and box springs off and stood them against the wall, checking beneath the bed. A thin, durable carpet covered the floor. Gibbs' knife made quick work of it and soon it, too, was pulled away, revealing naked plywood and particle board. His lip curled in distaste with the cheap products.

He moved to the closet. First, he pulled all the clothing out, then went to work on the plastic storage boxes and small stacks of papers and folders. "Ziva!" He heard her steps stop at the door. "Call Tony. Tell him to bring us some boxes - I want all this stuff sent to Abby." He waited until she made the call, then he turned back to the closet. Shelves covered the left side. A bar across the top provided space for hanging clothes, and two shelves above that were for storage. Gibbs slid his gloved hands along the inside walls, tapping and looking for hidden places.

He hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a folding chair from the card table set up there and returned to the bedroom. Grunting when Ziva told him Tony was on his way, he set the chair in the closet, turned on his flashlight, and climbed up to study the higher shelves. A pattern of dust marked the places where boxes had sat for weeks. Again, he checked the walls, all the way around to above the door. No secrets were revealed.

Leaving the closet, he turned to the bedroom walls. Sometime during his search, Tony arrived with boxes. The folders and stacks of papers were stored and tagged, loaded into the truck, then Tony joined them.

Eyes glued to the wall as his flashlight beam passed over it, Gibbs yelled into the next room, "What'd you find, Tony?"

"Harold Bryan Tilton was born April 16, 1974 to Margaret and Ray Tilton of Spring Creek, Nevada. They had an older son, but he died when Harold was thirteen."

"How'd he die?"

"I don't know, Boss, you told me to get Tilton's background - " Tony leaned into the bedroom, saw Gibbs' expression and quickly amended his statement. " - Of course how his brother died is part of his background, and I will get on that as soon as we get back to -" another peek and another glare had Tony spinning on his heel and heading for the door. " - I'll do that right now."

"DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony leaned into the bedroom doorway.

"Apartment first, background later - help Ziva."

"On it, Boss."

Gibbs shook his head, but didn't say anything. How many times had he lectured someone about keeping their emotions in check when a person they loved or cared about was missing or hurting? Do the job, then deal with the emotions later. His own advice mocked him, whispering through his head, taunting him. He found his concentration wavering between finding evidence, and thinking about McGee. _You sent him to Tilton. You sent a man who fit the murderer's criteria perfectly, into his waiting arms._ He wouldn't allow any excuses to bleed through. If he could have punched himself in the face, he would have done it.

He blinked and an image of Davenport, placed on the bed where his body had been discovered, flashed into his mind. But instead of Davenport, it was Tim; his pale body washed clean; bruises, burns and stabbings strikingly vibrant against marble skin, lying in a supine position. One hand rested against his abdomen, the other arm bent at an angle, tossed behind his head as if sleeping. Head turned into the pillow, eyes closed - looking so peaceful despite the terrible injuries that marred his body.

Gibbs squeezed his eyes shut, ejecting the image from his thoughts. He stood and leaned against the wall, scrubbing his hands roughly across his face. _Stay in the moment._ Job now; emotions later.

Hurrying out of the bedroom, he walked through to the kitchen. He felt Tony's and Ziva's eyes on him, but didn't say anything to them. He had done a very thorough search of this room before, but he went through it again, looking for anything he'd missed. He pulled drawers out and flipped them over, searching for hidden pictures or papers. Frustration began to twist inside him, drawing his nerves tighter and tighter. There didn't seem to be anything left behind that would give them a clue, or point the way to Tilton. It felt as if an hourglass was draining away, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep the sand from trickling through his fingers. McGee drifted farther and farther away.

Slamming one of the cabinet doors shut, he left the kitchen and moved down the hall to the bathroom. First glance looked hopeless; just a simple bathroom with typical structures and fixtures. His frustration erupted into anger. Gibbs pounded the side of his fist against the wall. The corner molding where the wall cut away into the alcove for the shower and tub combination trembled and fell to the floor. Gibbs froze, then moved closer to inspect the wall. He discovered that there were no nail holes in the molding on the small section of wall to the right of the door, entering the bathroom. The wainscoting molding above the bead board wasn't nailed on; it was glued. The wall was all one piece, not divided, like the rest of the room seemed to be, into drywall at the top, and bead board at the bottom. And with the corner molding gone, he was able to press his fingertips against the edge and pull gently; the entire section of wall slid away.

"Tony! Ziva!"

They rushed to the door. Tony, breathless, asked, "Found something, Boss?" He reached for the section Gibbs handed him and moved it out of the way, into the hall.

Gibbs knelt and rested on his heels, shinning his flashlight into the deep shelves. "Yeah."

"These shelves look as if they were part of the bathroom's original design," Ziva observed.

Gibbs nodded in agreement. "Tilton must have decided to use them for storage and built the wall to hide them. The paintjob in here is new, as well as the molding, wainscoting, and bead board."

Tony offered, "I bet his landlord patted him on the back for the improvements; no doubt Tilton paid for everything to keep it quiet." He backed away. "I'll go get some bags."

Gibbs waited, his eyes tracking from instrument to instrument, his imagination supplying the cruel use for each piece. There were also pictures, and some papers. Something here had to lead them to Tilton; some piece of evidence had to be the key to finding Tim. The sooner they could get everything to Abby, the quicker they could rescue McGee. Gibbs pressed his knuckles against his lips as he waited for Tony's return. Despite this new discovery, the tightening in his gut didn't lessen.


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

Tim tried to count minutes and judge how much time had passed, but he knew he couldn't be accurate. Enough time had passed for the dull ache in his shoulders to grow into excruciatingly sharp pain that he could not relieve, no matter how he turned or twisted. He'd discovered that rising to his toes took away some of the weight from his wrists; long enough for him to wiggle his fingers until they grew warm with circulation again. But his feet cramped with all of his weight on his toes, so he couldn't hold that position for long.

His skin had finally dried from the earlier shower, but his hair was still damp. Chill bumps peppered his skin and his muscles shivered with cold until he felt as if he'd been through a serious workout. His throat felt tight and scratchy when he swallowed. An experimental deep breath sent shards of dull pain through his left side, and weak cramps through his belly, but he didn't feel as if there were any internal injuries to be worried about - yet.

_Stay in the moment._

Despite his resolve to not anticipate, he shuddered violently when a door opened above, and footsteps moved steadily closer. Tilton flipped on the light as he walked down the stairs. He smiled at McGee. "Hello, Agent McGee. Are you happy to see me?"

McGee had debated with himself whether or not to engage in conversation with Tilton. He doubted there was anything he could say that would sway the man. He knew not to mention the name _Rodney_ again, afraid of the rage that consumed Tilton and made Tim believe Tilton was going to kill him right then. His earlier victims had been gagged; he found himself wondering why Tilton hadn't gagged him, and decided it might be because of his continued silence. He'd rather hold his tongue than experience a rag stuffed into his mouth, so he opted to remain silent.

"Nothing to say?" Tilton arrived at the tables. He began handing the objects, turning them and rearranging them. McGee didn't watch, afraid of the images the instruments would conjure. "I don't have as long with you as I did with the others. NCIS is probably combing the countryside, searching for their little lost agent." He picked up a short-bladed knife. McGee's eyes widened and he pulled back as far as his restraints would allow. "Still nothing to say?"

McGee licked his lips. "Wh-what could I say to change your mind?"

His weapon chosen, Tilton turned and stepped closer to McGee. Holding the knife in one hand, he pressed the point against a finger of his other hand, eyes roaming the ceiling as if in thought. "Hmmmm - well, you could offer me a million dollars and a free ride to a paradise island of my choice with the guarantee that I won't be followed." Grinning, he focused his eyes on Tim.

Tim's breathing quickened. "You know I can't do that."

"I know. But I had to ask." He stepped close, hooked his arm around McGee's head, gripped his hair, and pulled his head back sharply. "Stay still - this might hurt a little."

An incoherent groan vibrated out of McGee's tight throat. A sharp pinch in his right side caught him by surprise and he gasped. Warmth flowed down his skin and after a moment, he realized he was bleeding.

"The blade's not long enough to puncture anything vital, Rodney. Just long enough to cause you discomfort."

Tilton pulled away, but kept his grip firm on Tim's hair. Head back, throat arched uncomfortably, Tim waited for the next thrust. Again, his breath left him in a rush when a sharp pain pinched in his middle, just above his diaphragm, slightly beneath the outward curve of his ribcage. Painful points in rapid succession opened all over his torso - low on his belly, down his right side, down his left side, in his flank. His breathing shuddered through his lungs and he moaned. Abruptly, his hair was released and his head flopped forward. He stared in confusion at the multiple tiny rivulets of blood running down his body.

A familiar squeak made him shut his eyes and stiffen. Cold water cascaded over his head and flowed down his body, washing the blood away. He pressed his face into his shoulder, hiding from the bone-chilling cold. A sudden and fierce burst of pain through his abdomen forced his eyes open. He sucked in a deep breath, threw his head back, and shouted. The pain ebbed, leaving him breathless and groaning. Head leaning weakly against his shoulder, he watched through half-lidded eyes as Tilton moved around behind him, carrying a cattle prod.

A lightening point of pain struck through his flank. His body arched uncontrollably, fighting to escape the agony pressing into him. The piercing pain faded and the hum of the cattle prod stopped abruptly. Before he could prepare for the next onslaught, hard knuckles cut brutally into his side. The loud slap of flesh echoed through the room as Tilton worked around him, as if practicing with a punching bag, jabbing into his ribs and belly. Tim desperately pulled air in between punches, quickly losing the battle to stay conscious. His head slumped forward.

Winded, Tilton landed one last punch, square in the middle of his victim's solar plexus. Even unconscious, the kid's body responded, caving in and grunting when air expelled violently from his lungs.

Tilton backed away, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I told you your time would come, Rodney. You should have listened to me." Moving to the table, he reached for the smelling salts. His time was growing short; it was later than he liked. He wasn't finished, and he wanted Rodney awake for this.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Since this chapter is so short, I'll go ahead and post chapter 12 with it. Thanks for all your reviews!_**

**ELEVEN**

Gibbs sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Words were beginning to blur together and not make sense. He glanced at his watch and blinked in surprise at the time. It was well past midnight. Across the office, Tony sat reading a file. Occasionally, he would reach for his computer, run a search, then delve back into the file. Ziva, too, sat busily reading. She'd stopped making phone calls hours ago, when she could no longer reach anyone because of the time.

Gibbs stood and watched as they both looked at him. "Go home. Get a few hours rest; be back here early." Not waiting to see how quickly his orders were followed, he rounded his desk and took the elevator to Abby's lab. As expected, she was still working, too. Or at least, she was still awake. She sat staring at one of her computers, arms wrapped around Burt, chin resting on his furry head. She'd pulled the elastic bands out and her hair hung loose to her shoulders. She hadn't attempted to clean her face; dark mascara smeared beneath her eyes, giving her a morbid expression, even without the grief that pulled at her features. When she saw Gibbs, she placed Burt on the counter and folded into his open arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder.

Gibbs smoothed his hand against her head and placed a tender kiss on her temple. Her breathing hitched with a silent sob.

"You need to get some sleep, Abby."

"Gibbs -" She pulled back but stayed in his embrace. She sniffed and a tear streamed down her face. "How can I sleep when I know Tim's hurting, and what that man is doing to him? It would be like committing sacrilege or something for me to sleep before getting Tim back."

Gibbs wiped the tear away with his thumb. "He would want you to rest so you can be alert in the morning. You're no good to him like this." Gently, he turned her and led her toward the futon she kept in the inner office.

"Are you going to sleep?"

He sidestepped the question. "I'm not leaving."

Her weariness worked in his favor. She didn't catch on to his avoidance. "Okay - I'll lay down for a minute, but I won't sleep."

"Just rest." He knelt beside her and pulled a plaid quilt she kept nearby up around her shoulders. Brushing her hair away from her face, he touched her cheek and watched her eyes close. Within seconds, her breathing evened into sleep. One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. Patting her back gently, he stood and walked away.

Not surprisingly, Tony still sat in his chair, his head back, his feet propped on his desk. A rumbling snore escaped his open mouth. Ziva's head lay cushioned on her crossed arms on top of her desk. Her eyes were closed and her shoulders rose gently with her breathing. Gibbs pulled her sweater from the back of her chair and tucked it around her. He turned off her desk lamp, then moved to his own desk.

Ten hours. Tim had been with Tilton for ten hours. A lifetime, for Tim. An eternity, for Gibbs. With a sigh he picked up the folder Tony had complied on Tilton, and continued to read into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE **

He came awake coughing, an acrid smell burning his nose and causing his eyes to water.

"You don't have time to sleep, Rodney. You need to pay attention."

McGee opened his eyes in time to see a baseball bat rushing toward him. His cry cut off sharply when the wooden bat hit him across the middle. For several terrifying seconds, he couldn't breathe. Tilton swung again, connecting violently with his ribs. McGee's teeth clicked together so hard his jaw hurt. The bat swung again and again, smashing into his flank, across his back, smacking hard into his abdomen twice. A gag reflex he couldn't control had him swallowing convulsively, then acid and bile stung his throat and spewed out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. His gut churned and a spasm gripped his belly again. Helplessly, he vomited, emptying his hurting stomach until the paroxysm quieted.

A metal squeak brought an instant response. He stiffened, shrieking aloud when icy cold water cascaded down his head, drenching him. Eyes squeezed closed, he didn't see the fist coming, but felt the impact against his cheekbone. His head snapped back on his neck and he hung there, spent, unable to hold his head up and lessen the strain on his severely arched throat.

A familiar smell stung his nostrils. He straightened, shaking his head to rid himself of the stink. An audible click preceded an electric hum. McGee's eyes widened when he caught sight of the cattle prod. His body still slick and wet, the tip touched his flank and electricity crawled over his skin like stinging ants before biting hard into his body. His muscles locked in a tight arch as his spine bowed in pain. Mouth open so wide his jaw hurt, Tim screamed.

The cattle prod touched his shoulder. He twisted with the agony that stabbed through his joint. Before that agony faded away, the cattle prod touched a point low on his back. Tim's torso convulsed, straining vainly to escape.

The hum shut off. Tim hung in his restraints, heaving breaths pumping loudly through his lungs. He watched dispassionately as Tilton returned the cattle prod to the table, then reached for something else.

Desperation and the hope for a brief respite pushed words out of his mouth. "Harold, why are you doing this to me?"

Tilton turned to him, surprise lifting his eyebrows. "Agent McGee, what do you -"

Tim swallowed hard. "No, it's me - Rodney. Why are you doing this to me, Harold? What have I done to you to deserve this?"

The transformation was immediate, and took Tim's breath away. Tilton grabbed the short-bladed knife and rushed at him. "No, no, no! Wait! - _I'm not -!_" Fingers clamped around his throat, cutting off his air, effectively stopping his cries.

Tilton pressed in close, his body pushing against McGee, stretching him unbelievably tighter. Despite the lack of air, a sob gushed out of McGee's mouth.

"I _told_ you -" The knife jabbed into Tim's abdomen, forcing what little air remained in his lungs to erupt in little violent gusts from his mouth. "_Don't_ say that _name_ -" Each thrust of the blade punched into his body, driven a little deeper by Tilton's wrath. "I _don't _want to _hear_ it come _out_ of your _mouth_."

Tilton released him and reached for the faucet on the wall. McGee's head slumped forward. He was unaware as frigid water tumbled over him, sliding down his body and mixing with the blood that ran down his belly. Even when Tilton turned the water off, a trickle of red remained, rolling slowly down McGee's bruised abdomen, and spreading into the wet material of his boxers.


	13. Chapter 13

**THIRTEEN**

_He walked down a long, dark corridor. _

"_Where we going, Boss?"_

_Gibb squeezed his hand into a fist by his side, straining to ignore the innocent voice that tugged at his heart. "I'm taking you to someone."_

_Ziva stood quietly, watching as they walked past. She reached and touched McGee's shoulder. "Stay in the moment, Tim." She looked past Tim at Gibbs. Gibbs ignored the accusation he saw in her eyes._

_They kept walking. The way grew darker. _

"_Do you want me to turn on a light, Boss?"_

_Gibbs shook his head. "No. You don't need to see where we're going."He locked his teeth together with the trust he heard in McGee's voice._

_Tony stood waiting, watching as they drew closer. "Hang in there, Probie. We won't give up on you." His jaw worked as he locked eyes with Gibbs. Gibbs looked away, unable to bear the question he saw in Tony's face._

_Beside him, Tim stumbled. He curled forward and pressed one hand to his body. "It hurts, Boss."_

"_I know, Tim. Stay in the moment. Don't give in."_

_Ducky stood watching, his usual smile missing, his face grim. "You don't have to do this, Jethro."_

"_Yes, I do, Duck."_

_Ducky nodded, resignation lifting his shoulders in a heavy sigh. "Very well. You know I'll be here, waiting." He touched McGee's shoulder as they walked by. "Stay strong, Timothy. I know you can get through this."_

_Tim tripped and nearly lost his footing. Gibbs reached for him, supporting him. Tim leaned against him, his breathing labored. "I - I don't know if I can do this, Boss."_

"_Do it for me, Tim."_

_Strength seemed to flow back into McGee. He straightened, but lifted his other hand to press against the one held to his stomach. "I can do it for you, Boss."_

_Gibbs blinked, fighting to see through the moisture gathering in his eyes. "I knew you would, son."_

_Abby stood, shifting from foot to foot. She bit her lip. "Please don't do this, Gibbs. Don't let him go."_

"_I have to, Abby."_

_Tears streaming down her cheeks, she reached for McGee. Tim touched her fingers, then returned his hand to his middle._

_They came to the end. Tilton stood in an open, dark doorway. "I see you've brought him, just as I asked."_

_Gibbs gripped Tim's arm and pulled him forward. "You can have him now, Tilton. But I want him back."He shoved Tim forward into Tilton's waiting arms._

_Alarmed, McGee looked at Tilton, then back at Gibbs. "Boss, why? Why do I have to go?"_

"_Because you're what he wants, Tim." As Tilton pulled Tim into the darkness, Gibbs stepped forward. "Stay in the moment, Tim! Don't -" A steel door slammed down in front of him, cutting him off. Behind it, he heard Tim scream. He lifted his hands and covered his ears, but it didn't help. Rushing to the door, he slammed his fists against the metal, trying to break through, and realized with a sinking dread, he should have never let Tim go._

Gibbs woke with a gasp, the horror of his nightmare still clinging like gossamer spider webs to his heart. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his watch. The face came slowly into focus. Just after five a.m. He's slept too long.

A coffee cup sat on his desk. Gratefully, he took a long swallow from the hot liquid. That seemed to wake him up. Across the room, Tony dipped his head at him. "Morning, Boss."

Gibbs lifted the cup in silent salute.

"I found Tilton's parents; they moved to D.C. about ten years ago. They're both still alive and live about thirty minutes away."

Gibbs grabbed what he needed, including the coffee, and got ready to leave. "Tony, with me. Ziva -?" A quick glance didn't reveal Ziva anywhere.

Tony left his desk and stood in front of Gibbs, waiting. "She's with Abby, helping her go through the evidence. Abby's working on something."

"Good. Let's go."

Within minutes, they were on the road. Tony's directions lead them to a small suburb with houses that had seen better days. They parked on the street in front of a ranch style home. The grass needed cutting, and the flowerbeds were chocked with weeds. A broken and crumbling sidewalk pointed the way to the front door. Gibbs knocked.

The wooden door opened. An elderly woman, gray hair pulled back in an unruly pony tail at the nape of her neck, peered at them through the screen door. "Can I help you?"

Gibbs flashed his badge. "NCIS, ma'am. I'm Agent Gibbs, this is Agent DiNozzo. May we come in?"

"What's NCIS?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services. We need to talk to you about your son, Harold."

"Who you talking to, Margaret? Shut the damn door before all the cold air goes out."

Embarrassment flitted across Mrs. Tilton's face. She reached to unlatch the screen. "Come on in."

They followed her in. She hurried ahead and bent to talk to a man sitting in a chair in front of the TV. "They're here to talk about Harold, Ray. It's the CIA or something."

"NCIS -" Tony showed his badge but tucked it back into his pocket when no one showed any interest.

"Harold?" This seemed to interest the old man. He pointed the remote at the TV and muted the volume. "Why, we haven't heard from Harold in - what's it been, ma? - almost five years now?"

"I think it's closer to seven, Ray." She indicated for Gibbs and Tony to sit, then moved to a chair beside her husband. "We haven't talked to Harold since he moved away, almost seven years ago. For awhile he'd call when he was back in the states, but even that stopped after the first year, and we haven't heard from him since."

Confused, Tony shifted to the edge of the couch. "You don't keep in contact with your son?"

"Oh, he's not my son - I mean, he's my son, but we adopted him. He was my sister's child. She was killed in a car accident when he was one month old. Since there was no one else to take him, we did. Our son, Rodney, wanted a little brother, and it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"Where's your oldest son, Rodney?"

"Dead." The corners of Mr. Tilton's mouth turned down. "Harold killed him."

"Ray!"

Mr. Tilton seemed unaware of the impact his announcement had made on his visitors. He shoved himself up from his chair. "Well, he did!" Obviously upset, he left. They could hear another television switch on in another room.

Gibbs looked at their hostess. "Mrs. Tilton - did Harold kill your son?"

She shook her head, but she didn't look very convinced. "No, Harold didn't kill Rodney. Rodney got himself killed with one of those crazy stunts he liked to pull. He wasn't - he wasn't a _bad_ boy, Agent Gibbs. He was just - well, mischievous." She reached for a framed picture beside her on a side table. Rubbing her hand across the glass, she smiled. "He and Harold were inseparable at first; joined at the hip."

"May I?" Tony reached for the picture. She handed it to him. As she continued, Tony studied the picture, then gave it to Gibbs. He pointed at the taller boy in the picture and mouthed 'McGee' silently.

Gibbs glanced down at the picture, then squinted and looked again. It was as if he were looking at a younger version of Timothy McGee.

"But Rodney's bully nature took over, and he teased Harold mercilessly. I spanked him, tried to make him behave. He was such a strong-willed boy, Agent Gibbs. His daddy said - Ray said Rodney was evil, which is wrong for a father to say that about his son, I know. I tried to see the good in Rodney. But after awhile, even I had to admit - something wasn't - right."

The tremor in her voice set off an alarm in Gibbs' gut. He shifted to the end of the couch, closer to Mrs. Tilton. "Did he hurt Harold?"

"I - " Her resolve seemed to crumple. "Of course not! What kind of mother would I be if I let one of my sons deliberately hurt the other?"

"Mrs. Tilton." Gibbs moved in close. "I have a missing agent - a friend. I think Harold knows where he is. From what you're telling me, my instinct is to investigate Harold's medical records, but if whatever happened to him happened when he was just a kid, and he's adopted, his records are sealed. It'll take a court order to get anything, and by that time, it may be too late for my friend. Please, Mrs. Tilton. Tell me what happened to Harold."

She lifted one hand to her mouth. Her lips trembled. She looked away, unable to face Gibbs. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I caught Rodney once, with Harold. He was - hurting him. Touching him."

"Did Rodney rape Harold, Mrs. Tilton?"

Her eyes closed with Gibbs' question and a tear rolled down her cheek. She slipped a hand into a pocket of her dress, pulled out a kleenex, and wiped her nose. Quietly, she whispered, "Yes." Swallowing, she forged ahead. "I took Rodney in the bathroom and ran him a scalding shower and made him stand under the water until his skin turned red. I whipped him, made him promise me he'd never do that again. But I couldn't watch him all the time, Agent Gibbs. He - he was such a strong-willed child." She sniffed and pressed the tissue against her trembling lips.

"What did Harold do?"

She shook her head. "He was smaller than Rodney; he couldn't do anything. Later, after Rodney died and Harold moved away, I cleaned out his room and found pages and pages he'd written, how he was going to - going to get revenge on Rodney one day. Oh, he listed all the things he'd do to him - horrible, dreadful things that made me sick."

" - can you tell me anywhere that Harold might go if he wanted to be alone?"

"No, I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs. Like I said, we haven't heard from Harold in nearly eight years, and he'd moved away even before that. I think he always resented us for not protecting him from Rodney. I have no idea where he could be."

"If you think of anything, please call me." Gibbs pulled a card out of his pocket, took the pencil Tony handed him, and wrote his cell number on the back. He handed it to Mrs. Tilton. "It might help me find my friend."

She took the card, looked at it, and slid it into her pocket. "I will." She showed them to the door.

In the car, Tony sat staring straight ahead. "Now what do we do?"

Gibbs pulled away, heading back to NCIS. "Now, we help Abby find something that will lead us to Tilton."

"And if we don't find anything?"

Gibbs didn't answer and Tony knew better than to press the question.


	14. Chapter 14

**FOURTEEN**

He woke up coughing again. His throat burned and he struggled to stop, but even swallowing felt like pushing sand paper down his throat. Cold water streamed down his body. The flow wasn't on full force; just enough to chill his skin and keep him shivering. He shifted and pulled his head back when agony gnawed through his body. It was hard to take an inventory and figure out what hurt worse. He dropped his head, pressed his chin to his chest, and glanced down at himself. The cold water leeched his skin, leaving him pallid. Multiple bruises of different shapes and colors, raw burn marks and slices from the short-bladed knife lay scattered across his torso. He twisted to look at his flank, but the movements sent stabbing pain through his ribs and abdomen. Winded, he hung his head and shut his eyes.

He was going to die here. All alone. The hope he'd held, the way his heart jumped every time he heard a noise, expecting Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva to come down the stairs and find him, were fading away. He tried to hang onto it. He tried to visualize in his mind how they would look, the relief on their faces when they found him alive - the protection he'd been missing and longing for ever since waking up in Tilton's car - it was too hard to keep that alive.

_Stay in the moment._

He shook his head, tears squeezing out of his closed eyes. "I - I can't. I can't do it anymore." A sob tore through his chest and his body shook with his weeping. Water and tears streamed down his face. He took a gulping breath and tried to rein in his emotions. He lifted his head, imagining Tony standing, watching him. Would he be proud of how long he'd held on? Would he mention his Probie when friends gathered and talked about old times, and loved ones who had impacted their lives? Tony looked so serious, standing there, watching him. No cocked eyebrow, no smile on his lips, no jaunty expression making him look as if he were up to something.

_Stay in the moment._

Would Gibbs grieve?

"_McGee, you go question Tilton. See how well he knew Reed and if he's still in contact with him."_

"_Yes, Boss."_

That simple command had put his life in danger. But Gibbs had no way of knowing that. He could have sent Tony to question Tilton, or Ziva. Could their reaction time have been quicker? Would they have been taken, like he was? It didn't matter. Gibbs would take the responsibility, no matter who it had been.

_So, if I die, it will be Gibbs' fault._

Gibbs. A man already burdened with so much guilt and sadness. The image of Tony wavered, grew shorter, more gray-headed. Gibbs stood there, an expression he'd only seen after Kate had been killed on his face. Tim shook his head. No, he couldn't be responsible for causing Gibbs more grief. He had to hang on. He had to make it through this.

_Stay in the moment._

He nodded. "I will." His voice cracked, whispering hoarsely through the room. His lips trembled as tears threatened. "I'll get through this. Just hurry." A door opened above and footsteps came closer. Tim squeezed his eyes closed, furiously clinging to the straggling vestiges of hope he'd just found. He opened his eyes and watched Tilton walk down the steps toward him.

"Awake, I see. Good. Our time together is nearly over, Rodney."

McGee swallowed. He blinked, trying to keep the streaming water out of his eyes. His teeth chattered together. _Rodney. Who the hell is Rodney?_ The rage that consumed Tilton every time Tim had said the name clued him into the fact that he was extremely angry with Rodney. But, why? Rodney must have done something to him to make him so angry.

Tilton picked up a pair of brass knuckles and slipped one on each hand. He squeezed his fists together tight.

McGee's breathing hitched, then quickened in short gusts through his chest. He watched the light play off the metal as Tilton turned his fists. His ribs were already injured - a few punches from those could prove fatal. He saw Tilton's arm pull back for a punch. He turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut, teeth locked together in a grimace.

A scooping punch hit him square in the stomach. Air burst from his lungs and he gagged, caught helplessly again when spasms twisted his gut and forced bile up his throat. Each thrusting jab seemed aimed for his diaphragm and abdomen. He shook with each paroxysm that ripped through his body, struggling to pull air in before it spewed out of him again.

The punches moved to his flanks and around to his lower back, attacking his kidneys. His torso convulsed with each hit, shuddering and rebounding as far as the restraints would allow. They stopped abruptly. Water still streamed down, chilling his feverish body. Tim braced his forehead against his raised arm, breathing in quivering gasps, trying to find a rhythm that didn't send piercing pain through his ribs and belly.

Tilton took off the brass knuckles and picked up his rubber gloves.

Tim took as deep a breath as he could. "I'm sorry."

Sliding the gloves on, Tilton turned his head to look at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Harold. For what I did to you."

A tremor quivered through Tilton. He gripped the edge of the table. "What?"

Tim swallowed, grimacing when his sore throat protested. He continued, his voice raw and hoarse. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It was wrong. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that."

Tilton stepped close. He pulled off one glove and reached up with trembling fingers to touch Tim's face. "Rodney?"

Tim held steady, ignoring his instinct to pull away. "I'm sorry."

Moisture built in Tilton's eyes. He blinked. A tear rolled down his cheek. He shook his head and pulled away, reaching for his glove. "No - no. It's too late for that, Rodney. You have to pay."

Desperate, Tim cried out, "Wait! Harold, wait!"

"NO!" Tilton smashed the side of his fist down on the machine, switching it on. He pushed both cables hard into Tim's chest, holding them there as Tim's body stiffened in a tight arch and he screamed. He waited until McGee's head fell back limply and his eyes closed, then he released him and shut off the circuit. The brief rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive.

Tilton took off his gloves and stood staring at the young man hanging before him. "It's time to say good-bye, Rodney. By tonight, you'll be resting peacefully, your debt paid in full. I'll be back for our final time together soon." Turning, he walked slowly up the stairs, flipping the lights off as he went.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Two chapters tonight, since they're both so short. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! You guys give me so much inspiration and encouragement._**

**FIFTEEN**

Abby stood staring at the screen. "It's here, I know it is. It's right here; but I can't see it."

"What have you found?" Gibbs stepped close and looked at the screens, too.

"Dirt and fibers that don't belong in his apartment. The dirt has particles of rust and decay, as if he's been in an old building."

"Like a barn?" Tony, arms crossed, pushed away from the table he leaned against.

Ziva, shifting through evidence bags, lifted one hand in question. "A warehouse?"

"No - I think it's more industrial, like an old business or maybe a restaurant."

Gibbs looked at Abby. "Why do you say that?"

"Because the spectral analysis shows particles of cooking oil, spices, and cleaning agents - not really something you'd find in an old barn or even a warehouse."

Over by the evidence they'd taken from Tilton's apartment, Ziva announced quietly, "I have found something - I think it may be pictures."

"Pictures?" Gibbs and Abby twisted to look at her.

She reached into a small box of matches she'd taken out of an evidence bag and pulled out a memory card. "Maybe this will help." She placed it in Abby's outstretched hand.

Abby lost no time inserting the card and downloading the information to her computer. Within moments images began opening on her screen. A young man, hanging by his wrists, his body riddled with bruises, burns and cuts, naked except for boxers. His head, turned to the side, eyes closed, faced the camera. The similarity between his face and the cases lying in open files on their desks was eerie.

"That's not Davenport," Tony whispered, squinting as he peered at the screen. "That means there are more bodies out there."

"Nor Kellerman or Mason," Ziva added. "How long has Tilton been at this?"

Abby clicked on another image, bringing it to the front. "Looks like a basement of some type."

"That's none of our cases, either."

Tony's quiet voice sent shivers down Abby's spine. "There are tables, but I can't see what's on them."

"His weapons." Gibbs leaned closer. "I see electrical cords and a cattle prod, plus the light over head is on, so he's got electricity."

"There's a drain on the floor at his feet, so there's running water, too. That's Lance Corporal Marty Kellerman." Tony recognized him from his service record.

"And that's Zackary Mason," Ziva said quietly when Abby clicked on another image. "I don't see any windows. I believe you are correct, Abby - they are in a basement."

The last picture filled the screen. "Davenport," Gibbs announced. He circled his finger around one part of the image. "Abby, can you lighten this and zoom in?"

She clicked on that area and typed the commands into her computer. The image grew and brightened. A painted sign revealed itself, worn and faded with age.

"Martinelli's," Ziva read.

"Tony -"

"-Find any businesses or restaurants with that name. On it, Boss." He was already out the door, Ziva following at his heels.

"Good job, Abby." He kissed her on the cheek and turned to go, but she caught his arm.

"Gibbs."

He turned back to her.

"Call me the minute - the minute you find him. I want to know."

He nodded, squeezed her arm, and left. By the time he made it back to his desk, Tony was reaching for his weapon and grabbing his gear.

"What'd you find?" He hurried for his gun and joined Tony and Ziva as they ran for the elevator.

"A restaurant on the south side, closed down nearly twelve years ago, along with a whole line of mom and pop businesses. The building's abandoned, but I called my buddy at the electric company and he told me they were about to send out an investigator - that building's been pulling both water and electricity for over a month, but they just now caught it."

The elevator doors closed. As soon as they were deposited on the ground floor, they hurried to their car and sped away.


	16. Chapter 16

**SIXTEEN**

The lights came on. Tim kept his head down and closed his eyes. _I've done it - I've held on. Where are you? Why haven't you come for me?_ A warm tear slid down his cold face.

Footsteps descended the stairs, then came to a stop in front of him. He didn't look. The knob behind him squeaked and the water flow grew stronger. The chilling stream hardly affected him anymore; his skin was numb from cold. After a moment, something soft touched him. Shocked, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Tilton held a soapy rag against his skin, washing away the blood and tears.

"It's time, Rodney. Time for you to go to sleep."

_The murderer bathed his body, cleaning him thoroughly. _Words from Ducky's report scrolled through his mind. Grief ambushed him, poured tears down his face.

_I don't want to die._

The washcloth moved to his face, gently cleaning away the residue from a split lip and bloody nose. Tilton washed his neck, his shoulders, his chest and abdomen. His touch was clinical, non evasive. The soap stung as it oozed into cuts and across abrasions. The tiny stings were nothing, compared to the agony he'd endured. His back and sides received the same treatment. Tilton moved away, then let the water run over him, washing away all the soap. He turned the water off.

Tim watched Tilton reach for a clean, folded cloth, and then turned to face him. "Please, don't kill me." His raw voice held hardly any volume. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. Your debt is paid, Rodney. Just be still and close your eyes." He slipped his hand around the back of Tim's neck and pulled closer, lifting the folded cloth to Tim's mouth.

"No – _please_ - !" His cries were cut off when his nose and mouth were covered. He struggled, writhing against Tilton, pulling against his restraints. He arched back, desperate to draw in air. _God no! This can't be happening to me!_ His family, his friends - he cried out to them in anguish, his heart nearly bursting with the urgent need to see them and tell them he loved them. Coherent thoughts faded into base emotions of fear and terror. His fingers curled into tight fists over his head, and he kicked his legs against the ankle restraints, struggling to pull up his knees.

Blackness enveloped him, pushing out all color and sound. His head pounded; his heartbeat echoed through his skull. Strength leached away from his limbs, racing to his heart. Then that too faded and he knew nothing.

When Tilton released him, Tim's head dropped back on his neck. He hung limply in his restraints with no movement and no life.


	17. Chapter 17

**SEVENTEEN**

"This is it, Boss."

Gibbs stopped the car and got out. "Quiet - we don't want to let Tilton know we're here."

Tony and Ziva followed close, weapons ready. It seemed to take an eternity to move through the building. Tony and Ziva fanned out behind Gibbs, checking out alcoves and piles of old furniture; making sure Tilton wasn't hiding behind something.

In the back of the room, a light shined through an open doorway. Gibbs signaled for the others to follow, then made his way to the back. Pressed against the wall, he peered down the stairs. From what he could see, it looked as if this were the same room they had seen in the photos. He took a moment to glance at Tony and Ziva, signaled that he was about to move, then began descending the stairs. Tilton stood at a table. Behind him, Tim hung suspended, his body stretched between restraints.

Time sped up; thoughts, emotions and movements ran together into one jumbled moment.

"Freeze! Federal Agents! Move away from him!"

Gun aimed at Tilton's head, Gibbs waited for one tiny twitch, any slight indication that Tilton's hands were reaching for McGee. Anger boiled in his gut, searching for a release. He kept his trigger ready and his focus tight, refusing to see the details around him. Ziva came from the side in a blur of color, grabbing Tilton, pushing him face down on a table, hissing words in his ear, and handcuffing him.

"Tony - ankles. Ziva - ambulance."

Trusting his agents to understand the short orders, Gibbs put his gun away and reached for his knife in one swift motion. He stretched, slid the blade between the leather cuffs and Tim's skin, and sliced through quickly. Tony had already freed Tim's ankles and wrapped both arms around McGee, catching his folding body when he was released. Oh god, the way Tim filled his arms, pliant and lax as a sleeping child. His head flopped back on his neck as they lowered him to the floor. Gibbs caught his skull, cupping the back of his head to shield it from harm. Fear clutched him so tight he could barely breathe.

Tony pressed his fingers against McGee's throat. "I've got a pulse - faint. He's not breathing, Gibbs," his voice quivering and tight with emotion.

On his knees, Gibbs pressed his palm against Tim's forehead, forcing his head back, and pinched his nose closed with the same hand. He scooped his other hand beneath Tim's neck, supporting, then he leaned over and covered Tim's mouth with his own. One, two, three breaths. He turned his head, listening and feeling for breaths, watching to see if Tim's chest would rise and fall on its own. Vaguely, he was aware of Tony pressing cloths against Tim's abdomen, covering the wounds he'd seen there. Again, he covered Tim's mouth. One, two, three breaths. Listening, watching. One, two, three -

A spasm ripped through Tim's body and his back arched as he pulled in a shuddering breath. Gibbs let go of him to pull off his jacket, then carefully lifted Tim's upper body. With Tony's help, he managed to work the jacket around his shoulders. He was aware of Tony doing the same thing, laying his jacket across Tim's legs and tucking the material under snuggly. Tim's skin felt like ice. Gibbs moved in close, wrapping both arms around the shivering young man and held him against his chest. Adrenaline raced through him, leaving him sick and weak. His arms trembled as he held Tim close.

Ziva joined them. Gibbs considered asking if Tilton was secure, then thought better of it. Tony leaned across him and cupped his palm against Tim's face. "We're here, Tim. It's over. Tilton can't hurt you anymore."

Ziva took one of Tim's hands and rubbed it between her own. "You're safe."

Gibbs nodded, watching Tim. He kept his movements gentle, making sure Tim's ribs weren't being crushed, and that his chest kept rising and falling. "You made it, Tim. You did good, son."

Tim's eyes opened. He looked at Gibbs and his lips parted. A whisper breathed out, but no words formed. Closing his eyes, he turned his head into Gibbs' chest. A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye. Gibbs folded over him, giving in to the fierce urge to protect him. He didn't move again until the paramedics arrived. Standing and moving out of the way, he pulled out his phone and flipped it open. He watched as Tim was tended to, heard the gentle way the men spoke to him, applied pressure bandages, took his blood pressure, gave him oxygen. Tony and Ziva hovered nearby. Police officers had arrived as well as another NCIS team to process the scene.

He pressed the phone to his ear. The call connected quickly, before he was ready. "Abby," his voice shook. He cleared his throat and pulled a deep breath in through his nose, scrambling for composure. In one breath he whispered, "We've got him - he's alive," before his throat closed with emotion. He shut the phone, knowing he'd told her enough for now, and that he wouldn't be able to speak, anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

**EIGHTEEN**

One more hospital waiting room, one more hour waiting for news, one more time of almost losing someone he loved. That was something he wouldn't admit to anyone, not even to himself, except in moments that opened his heart and left him vulnerable, like now. Shannon and Kelly, he had loved. Others, along the way. There was a bond you formed with the men you fought beside, knowing they'd give their lives for you, and you would do the same. Working at NCIS was similar, in a way. While investigating was the main thrust of their job, every time they stepped out into the field, questioning witnesses, processing a crime scene, following up on leads - they ran the chance of a situation turning dangerous or deadly. It wasn't the same as being on the battlefield with mortar fire blasting all around you, and bullets flying past like tiny armed missiles aiming for your heart or head, but your life was still on the line. He'd learned that trust was the epicenter of a good team, whether in war, or on the job. He worked hard to gain trust, and he was careful not to _give_ it unless he felt it was warranted. That's what made their team special; that's what set them apart from the other teams. That's why it felt as if they were the hub of NCIS, and everything else revolved around them. But a balance had to be maintained, as well; an edge. If any of them grew too complacent with their position, or took the tapestry they had woven together for granted, that would be the moment that it would all come unraveled, and everything would fall apart.

Gibbs leaned his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hand across his face. _I'm getting sentimental in my old age._ No, not sentimental; attached. He was shaken with how much it affected him to see Tim strung up by his wrists, and the way he felt so close to death when he wrapped his arms around him and caught him. The chill from his skin seemed to seep through his jacket. Gibbs sat back in his chair, staring down at his coffee, berating himself. What was he expecting? To become hardened with a shell of indifference? Did he _not_ want to be so affected when his men - his people - were hurt? _Hell, no, that's not what I want!_ It was tough, going through something like this. It hurt to see one of his boys hurt. It still made his heart freeze in his chest, then race in rapid staccato beats every time he remembered walking down those stairs and seeing Tim so hurt and vulnerable. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could erase the image from his mind.

He stood, restless for something to do. Ducky saw him and walked toward him. He reached out and touched his arm, his mouth open to speak, when the doctor who had attended to Tim in the ER walked toward them. Ducky moved out of the way when Gibbs turned to him.

The doctor dipped his head when he saw Gibbs. He had already been informed that Tim's family was out of the country.

"Agent Gibbs - he's out of surgery." He gestured toward the chairs. The others drew closer and sat with the doctor. "Most of the stab wounds were superficial. The blunt force trauma to his chest and abdomen were a bit more serious, but he's very fortunate to have very little internal bleeding. Blood loss was significant, but not enough to cause brain damage. I understand Agent McGee was held for around forty-eight hours?" He looked to Gibbs for confirmation and received a nod. "During that time he was exposed to some very cold temperatures. His core temperature is still down, but we're raising it by giving him warm IVs. There is some fluid in his lungs, and we'll watch him closely in case he begins to develop pneumonia. In his current weak state, that's a very real possibility."

"Has he been awake any, doctor?" Ducky asked.

The doctor looked at him. "Only briefly. He's in a highly emotional state right now, which is understandable given what he's been through. He did ask several times if Tilton - I'm assuming that's his kidnapper? - if Tilton was caught, or if he'd dead. I told him his team had taken care of it - I'll let you provide the answers he needs. He's going to need time and patience. I can recommend a good psychiatrist, and I strongly suggest that an appointment be set up for him as soon as possible. He may have trouble grasping the fact that the trauma is over, and that he's safe. You can help him by reassuring him." He stood. The others stood with him. "He'll be in recovery for the next twenty-four hours. After that, providing he's stable and his breathing is still clear, he'll be moved to a private room where you can visit him. We'll let you know if any complications develop before then." He shook Gibbs' hand and nodded to the rest. "Gentlemen - Ladies." He left.

"I will call Abby," Ziva offered, pulling her phone from her pocket. She walked away.

"What's going to happen to Tilton?" Ducky shifted closer to Gibbs, keeping his voice low.

Gibbs shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "He won't be interrogated - there's enough evidence and the fact that he was caught in the act will send him away. The trial will be just a formality. Tim probably won't even have to testify."

"He got off too easy," Tony mumbled. He stood nearby, his hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze unfocused as he stared into the distance. "They always run, or fight, or do something. But he just stood there and let Ziva handcuff him, smiling the entire time."

"No doubt he'll enter an insanity plea," Ducky guessed.

"He won't get off that easy," Gibbs voice, chilling and low, drew Tony's attention. The younger man turned to look at him.

Ducky moved closer. "Your energy would be better served helping Timothy get through this Jethro. There's nothing you can do about Tilton. He'll be put away where he can't hurt anyone again. Don't let him make you his victim, too."

Gibbs lifted his head. Ducky almost backed away from the intense eyes he found focused on him. "He already has, Duck. He did that when he took Tim." Turning, Gibbs threw his cup into the trash, then walked away.

Tony moved to follow, but Ducky caught his arm. "Let him go, Tony. He has some demons he needs to work through on his own. He'll be back." Smiling gently, he patted Tony's shoulder, then reached for his jacket and tucked it over his arm. "Meanwhile, I have work waiting for me, and Abigail will be beside herself for an eyewitness account. Get some rest, Tony. We'll be able to visit Timothy in twenty-four hours." He walked slowly away.

Ziva passed him as she rejoined Tony in the waiting area. She glanced around. "Did Gibbs leave?"

Tony nodded. "We might as well, too. Tim-visiting doesn't start until tomorrow." He shook his head, biting his lip. "What are we going to say to him, Ziva? How are we going to help him get through this?"

Ziva stood near, looking up into his face. "Tim is stronger than you give him credit for, Tony. He will get through this. With our help, and in his own way, he will get through it. Torture is a strange master, Tony." She looked away when he finally dipped his head and looked at her, but gathered her emotions and lifted her head, holding his gaze with her own. "I have seen it destroy people - people whom I believed to be strong enough to resist anything. But I have grown to learn that inner strength sometimes cannot be seen until something happens to expose it. Tim never gave up. That was not defeat I saw in his eyes - it was hope."

Tony's jaw worked as he shifted through her words. "That which does not kill us makes us stronger?"

A soft smile lifted Ziva's mouth. "Friends make us stronger. Friends who do not stop looking for you, even when it seems you can never be found." She turned to leave and Tony joined her.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Here's another short one. I'm posting Chapter 20 tonight with this one._**

**NINETEEN**

Exactly twenty-four hours later McGee lay in his hospital bed, his eyes closed in medicated sleep. A nose cannula tube hooked around his ears and under his chin, one of the many myriad of tubes and lines connecting him to the various machines near his bed. Five heads leaned over him, so close they nearly touched. Ducky, finally noticing, leaned back and gently pushed against the shoulders nearest him. "Let's give the lad some room to breathe, why don't we? We would give him a rude awakening if he awoke now with all of us leering over him like vultures."

Chagrinned expressions flitted across each face as they shifted back, and found different positions around the room.

Tim's eyes drifted open. His head turned slowly on his pillow. The others gathered near again, waiting to see if he'd stay awake this time. His eyes shifted across the room, alighting on faces. He licked his lips and opened his mouth.

A soft grin lifted one corner of Gibbs' mouth. "Welcome back, McGee."

Voice tremulous and raw, McGee asked, "D'I go some place?"

Ducky drew closer. "Very nearly."

Abby stepped to his side and grasped his hand gently. "We thought we'd lost you."

McGee's lips moved, but no sound came out. His eyes drifted closed again. Ducky patted his leg. "Try not to speak, Timothy. You're still very heavily medicated; you lost a lot of blood."

Tim's head turned on his pillow. It was obvious the medication was quickly pulling him down again. Just as it seemed he was drifting off to sleep, he stiffened and turned back to his friends, his eyes opening again. His head lifted a few inches and he raised one hand. His breathing quickened.

"Are you going to be here when I wake up?"

They gathered closer to the bed. Ducky smiled gently, grasped Tim's lifted hand in his own and squeezed it. "We'll be here, Timothy."

Apparently satisfied, Tim's head relaxed back to his pillow and his head turned, a weak smile stretching his lips. "Good," he mumbled sleepily, "that's good." His breathing evened out and he slept.

Ducky stood beside him for awhile, reluctant to release his hand. On the opposite side of the bed, Abby held Tim's other hand. She wasn't going to let go.


	20. Chapter 20

**_I want to thank ya'll for all of the wonderful reviews. You have encouraged me and inspired me and kept me writing. It was so much fun to check my email every day and see your reviews waiting for me. I write because I enjoy it, but sharing my stories and seeing other people enjoy them, too, doubles my enjoyment. :-) Thanks so much for reading, and for taking the time to send me your reviews._**

**TWENTY**

Tim lay comfortable and relaxed on his bed in his apartment. It felt strange, being here during the middle of the day with no deadline tapping him on the shoulder, or schedule running through his head of what to do next and where to go. These days of peace and healing were drawing to a close, and he intended to savor them until the very last. It would be the middle of winter by the time he returned to work. That meant heavy coats and scarves, and hurrying through frigid air to rush into cars or warm buildings. He intended to stay as warm as possible, loath to experience the depth of cold he'd already been through. Disturbing memories bled through his thoughts, and with a deep sigh, he allowed them. He watched them scroll across his mind, then quietly pushed them aside, replacing them with the vague but real impressions of safety and finality that he'd felt when he was found. Slowly, gradually, peace settled over him again like a familiar friend's embrace.

Abby, curled against his side, rubbed her hand lightly across his middle. He felt the slight bump as her palm slid over the bandages hidden beneath his shirt. He lifted his hand and laid it across hers on his stomach. He felt her shift and heard the soft gasp in the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry - did I hurt you?"

He smiled. "No. I'm all right."

The mattress dipped when she rose and shifted her weight to her elbow. He turned his head and found her with her chin braced on her hand, watching him.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked.

She smiled when he lifted the arm that had been cupped around her and touched her cheek. "How lucky I am."

Her smile softened and her eyes grew serious. "How lucky we all are." Curving her palm softly against his face, she touched her lips to his mouth.

A knock against his front door and a distant, muffled voice announcing, "McGee! Open up!" made Abby smile against Tim's mouth and pull back.

"That would be Tony." Rolling gracefully off the bed, she tucked stray hairs back in place and reached for her bag. "He's early."

Tim rolled to his side, braced his ribs, and sat up. "You know how he is when Ziva invites all of us to dinner; he can't wait to eat!" Chuckling, he stood, leaned forward to accept another kiss, then watched Abby walk to the door. She turned the lock and opened it, waited for Tony to come inside, then left, closing the door behind her.

"Come at a bad time?" Tony asked with a knowing grin on his face.

McGee shook his head and turned to straighten the bed. "No, Tony, you didn't catch us doing anything. You know Abby and I are just friends." Muscles still twinged and pulled uncomfortably as his torso twisted, but far less than the tear-inducing agony he'd first encountered during his healing process.

Tony stepped forward and offered, "Here, let me do that."

But McGee brushed his hands aside and continued, knowing the activity was good for him. "I can do it, thanks. I'll be coming back to work soon; might as well get used to doing things on my own again."

Tony rubbed his hands against his legs and looked around. Finally, he moved to McGee's desk and took a seat. McGee watched, noting the awkward tension and sporadic motions of his hands, as if looking for something to do. Two seconds later Tony was back on his feet and at McGee's closet, filing through his clothes. He chose a shirt and pulled it out, holding it against his chest. "This new?"

McGee's shoulders lifted in a sigh. He sat on the edge of his bed. "What's on your mind, Tony?"

Tony replaced the shirt. "Nothing. What makes you think something's on my mind?"

"Because you gave me that shirt for Christmas last year."

"Oh." Absently patting his hand against the hanging clothes, Tony walked across the room and returned to the desk. He took a deep breath, braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

Tim let the silence settle between them. He knew this discussion would happen sooner or later. He'd already been through something similar with Gibbs, though most of the words had come from his side of the conversation. It was as if his friends needed to realign themselves with him, or re-sync their lives with each other.

"So, how are things?" Leaning back, Tony crossed his arms against his chest.

"Good. I'm a lot stronger. Scars are starting to form, but the doctor gave me some special cream that will help them fade with time."

Tony nodded. "Good, good. Your sessions going okay?"

"My - oh, you mean my appointments with Dr. Gray, the psychiatrist? Yeah, he'd helped me a lot. I've learned how to work through my memories and look past them to the present."

"That's -," Tony glanced at his watch, "good, too." He pushed against his knees and stood. "Well, it's a little early, but if you're ready we can go ahead and start for Ziva's -"

McGee didn't move. "Not just yet, Tony. I need to tell you some things first." He waited as Tony slowly sat back down. He smiled. "You don't have to look so worried - it's not like I'm going to say anything you don't already know."

Tony shrugged and made a visible effort to look casual. He crossed one leg and laced his fingers together over his knee. "If I already know it then why do you have to tell me?"

"Because it needs to be said. You need to hear it." Leaning forward, McGee braced his forearms against his thighs. "I wanted to thank you for not giving up and for finding me in time."

Tony froze for a second, then he dropped his leg and sat straight, watching McGee.

"I know it's your job, and I know you wouldn't have stopped anyway, because you're not a quitter. But it was knowing that about you, and Ziva, and Gibbs, that helped me - helped me not give up." He rushed on when Tony opened his mouth to speak. "Wait - I'm not finished." Tony's mouth shut with an audible snap. McGee grinned. "I remembered things you told me, and advice Ziva and Gibbs had given me, so in a way, you were all there with me, helping me fight Tilton, helping me survive."

Tony smiled. "When we were at the hospital, Ziva told me, 'Friends make us stronger. Friends who do not stop looking for you, even when it seems you can never be found.'"

McGee nodded, and agreed with a quiet voice, "Exactly."

Tony stood and Tim joined him. "I'm glad we got to you in time, Tim. If we hadn't, I think Ziva and I would be sitting in court right now, defending Gibbs for murder."

Tim smiled. "Speaking of Ziva, let's go see what's for dinner." He didn't protest when Tony grabbed his jacket and helped him put it on. He knew this new, servant-like attitude wouldn't last long, so he'd better enjoy it while it lasted.

Tim took note of the details - Tony's hand against his back as they walked through the door, Abby's special attention and increasing affection, the feeling that he shared a certain kinship with Ziva, the certainty of Gibbs' loyalty and parental devotion - he gathered all of these together and let them fill his thoughts, knowing that slowly, they would replace the dark terrors that still gripped him in his dreams. _Stay in the moment._ He smiled, and followed Tony to the car.

**The End**

_**Epilogue**_

_On a dark, two-lane road, a plain grey van swerved to miss a deer. The driver lost control and the vehicle careened off the road, rolling to its side through a deep ravine and coming to a grinding halt against a tree. The engine sizzled and metal pinged as it cooled. Inside, the driver lay slumped against his passenger, both men dead. In the back, one man, dressed in a bright orange coverall, lay broken and bleeding, twisted like a discarded marionette. The other man, similarly dressed, kicked at the half bent back door until it opened enough for him to squeeze through. Hands shackled, limping because of the rough tumble in the crashed van, he stumbled through the opening. Moonlight drifted across his chest, revealing his tag: Prisoner #2BT992 – Tilton. Quickly, he disappeared into the surrounding trees._


End file.
